In Every Universe
by moonlessmondays
Summary: Cobert drabbles from every universe. Ratings may vary. Cross posted from tumblr.
1. Bleak

Hi! So for those who don't follow me on tumblr, I take prompts and turn them to drabbles (I haven't in a while ugh, but yes, I do like to fill out prompts sometimes). I thought I'd post my drabbles and one shots here from tumblr. Most are prompted, and you can leave a prompt to if you'd like, I'm working on the ones I already have and will be crossposting when I finish any of them! enjoy!

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 **Prompt: Cobert+ "I never thought it could be like this."**

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She sat, frozen, unable to believe her ears. She probably had been staring at him for hours now, although it felt like eternity, with her mouth agape and her heart thrumming loudly against her chest, she was sure he could hear it.

"Cora, say something," he said nervously as he sat in front of her in her bed—their bed, she reminded herself, as he had taken it to himself to sleep there for the past few months since finding her book—and he looked like he was about to keel over, or run away, or probably both.

But she could not speak. She could not move. She was frozen, unable to comprehend what he'd just said and what just happened. She was not even certain that what he said was real, that any of this was real. She had made herself believe a few months after she had married him that he was never going to fall in love with her. She had tried to, of course, but after months of attempting to make him had seemed to fail, she just believed that it was never going to happen. Her future seemed so bleak.

But here he was now, trying to make it…well, a little less bleak.

She heard him laugh nervously and watch as he ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more unruly than normal. But she did not care about that—that was beside the point.

"D-do…are you certain?" she finally found her voice to ask, and she was aware (as there was an incessant nagging at the back of her mind), exactly how stupid her question was. This was Robert they were talking about for God's sake. And he almost never really spoke of feelings or anything in general unless he was in no doubt.

"Cora," he whispered and his hand came up to caress her cheek gently and softly. They were staring at each other, and she was drowning in his blue ones. "I have never been more sure in my entire existence."

Before she could even say anything, he was leaning into her, his lips capturing hers in a heated kiss. When they pulled away, they were both panting. And while she paused to catch her breath, he dove straight to her throat, leaving open mouthed kisses and nipping at it, until she was moaning.

He looked at her, as if anticipating her reaction, or better yet, awaiting her permission. Permission which, she begrudgingly admits to herself, was freely given to him anytime. She only ever wanted to be close to him.

"Cora," he whispered, his breath obviously caught in his throat, as he pulled her nightgown away from her body.

Granted, this was not the first time they had seen each other naked, as they had done that countless of times, but this was different. This was seeing each other in a new light. This was seeing each other as finally two people in love, and they know it.

She blushed, from head to toe, when she caught his eye. He was looking at her as though nothing else in this world pleased him better, no sight in the world made him happier. Deep inside, she was happy that she was finally making _him_ this way. For months, there had been nothing but speculation on her part.

"Robert," she whispered back, just as breathily, when his hand came up to cup her breast. He was gentle and tender and sweet, and though she had spent many a night in his arms, making love, by now, the fact that he'd said, admitted, that he was in love with her made all the difference.

It wasn't very long until she was being pushed to her back gently, and for him to be divested of his clothes as completely as her. And neither did it take very long for him to have gasping, writing underneath him, begging him to finally, _please, please_ , make love to her.

The moment he slid in to her, her eyes fell shut and she could have sworn she saw stars. Before she knew it, he was kissing her softly, coaxing her mouth into the same action their nether regions were doing. It was sweet, gentle, and she felt, now more than ever, closer to him. She felt loved.

"Open your eyes, darling, please," she heard him beg, and though she wanted to comply, she could not possibly open her eyes at the moment. She was so close, so close now, a few more and she'd be in heaven. "Please, look at me." When she did, he gave her a smile, though his hips had not stopped moving. "I love you."

She smiled, tears gathering in her eyes, as she whispered, "I love you too," to him. She could not believe it. She had wished it, of course, but as the months passed, she'd let herself believe that it was never going to happen anymore.

Yet here it was. Here _he_ was. Making love to her, declaring his love to her—she could hardly believe it was now her reality.

When he whispered a soft ' _I love you'_ against her ear once more, accompanied by a thrust, she fell over the edge, and it didn't take him long to follow her there. He collapsed right next to her, and they remained quiet for a while, catching their breaths.

She rolled to her side and stared at him, a little while later, her vision blurred by tears. He looked at her questioningly, looking almost guilty, as if afraid he had hurt her. But before he could let the thought fester in his head, she spoke, a tear falling down her face at the same time.

"I never thought it could be like this," she whispered, her voice was cracking and so was her heart, but it all felt so good, so damn good. "I never thought that love could be like this. Or that you could even love me back. But now…" she paused as she cuddled herself into him, the feelings seemed to overwhelm her and she did not know how to continue further. "I love you, Robert."

Robert dropped a kiss on her hair, and she felt him smile against it. And this made her happy. For the first time, she had made him smile because of her love, not run away from it or be terrified of it.

"I love you, too Cora," he said softly, his arms tightening around her, as one of his hand started rubbing her back. "I love you more than you could possibly even realize or know."

But she did realize, and she did know—because she felt the same. And for the first time since she married him, their future did not seem so bleak.

 **Fin.**

 **4/28/15**


	2. Book Club

"Austen?" she hears someone say behind her and she rolls her eyes. _Of course, it's Austen,_ she wants to say, but she doesn't get to because the person continues, "I prefer Dickens or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself, but seeing someone actually reading Austen is somewhat refreshing." She hears that person chuckle. It is deep and it resonates deeply, she can almost feel the vibrations. It isn't enough that he has an accent. He just happens to have a sexy laugh, too.

She doesn't turn around, doesn't even lift her eyes from her book when she says, "Good choices, glad to know you aren't another John Green fanboy, or god forbid, Nicholas Sparks." The retort earns her another chuckle, and she fights with herself not to smile or laugh herself.

It surprises her, to find a man here. It isn't wrong, just strange. Perhaps when her friend, Emma, has told her that they were to attend a book club meeting, she has anticipated a bunch of girls or women going crazy over the next Nicholas Sparks novel or that _best seller 'Fifty Shades of Grey'._ She hasn't anticipated a currently faceless British man who likes Dickens or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"I'm glad you aren't," he says back with a laugh. "The book choices of some people nowadays, well, let's just settle on there really is no accounting for taste."

This finally makes her turn around and she has to swallow a gasp when she comes face to face with a man with piercing blue eyes, equipped with a disarming smile. She casts her eyes down and shakes her head, trying to remember what it is that they are talking about.

"I guess there isn't," she agrees, lamely (even she knows that), and nods her head. "But I'm sticking with my classics, thank you very much."

He grins. "Well, well, a woman after my own heart," he says, and his words make her heart skip a beat.

She only blushes at this, and she hopes to God he doesn't notice. And so she avoids his eyes, burying them once more in her book, pretending that he isn't there. God, she doesn't even know him.

As if he can hear her thoughts, he extends his hand, and says, "I'm Robert. Robert Crawley, it's a pleasure to meet you."

She looks up, finds him smiling at her, and she isn't able to give him one back, "I'm Cora. Cora Levinson. And it's a pleasure to meet you too."

"When my sister dragged me into this I had not thought I'd find someone who actually reads something other than Nicholas Sparks," he says as he takes the seat before her.

"Me too," she agrees, now watching him acutely, instead of averting her eyes from him. He isn't too bad to look at, after all. As a matter of fact, he could quite probably be a cure for sore eyes. "I didn't think I'd meet anyone who doesn't fangirl over him." Her disdain is barely hidden, and she bites her lip.

He laughs at this and shakes his head. "What do you say I buy you coffee and we can talk about your clear disdain for Nicholas Sparks."

Smooth, she thinks. But she smiles at him, amused, albeit a little embarrassed and nods her head.

Why the hell not?

 **Fin**

 **6/9/15**

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 **Prompt: Cobert meeting at a book club and are the only non Nicholas Sparks (/John Green) fans.**


	3. Did You Indeed?

**For Emma.**

 **Prompt: Cobert + "Did you indeed?"**

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Robert stared at his wife as she walked across the room to talk to his sister. She looked so graceful, so beautiful that he couldn't possibly take his eyes away from her if he tried. He'd thought her exotic the first time he'd seen her at a ball, and had found her beautiful now that he had been married to her for a quarter of a year, but it was only that night that he'd been taken so hard by the realization of exactly how disarmingly exquisite Cora was.

Her eyes were charming, enticing, and expressive. Her skin was soft and smooth. And her lips—her lips, he could kiss her all day. Yet, that was not enough description of how beautiful she was to him. It was hard to describe—her beauty. It wasn't only what was physical. Of course, she was physically beautiful, there was no denying that, but there was more to it than just that. She was beautiful on the inside as well, only adding up to her grace. She was soft and gentle, yet so firm and resolved and strong. The way she handled his mother only made him admire her more.

She was determined, Cora was, and he could sense it.

Usually, he fancied himself quite dense about women, and he would bet Downton, that he was indeed. Why else would have he been so naïve to think that at the first few months of their marriage, Cora had felt about him the way he did about her? Clearly, it—their marriage—had been so much more to her. Clearly it still was.

He watched her as she tilted her head to the side, listening as Rosamund talked of something animatedly—probably her honeymoon which she had only come back from. Cora listened, enraptured, a smile plastered on her face. There was a faraway look in her eyes, however, a sign that she was half daydreaming about other things. It wasn't really noticeable, but he'd noticed it, considering the number of times he'd seen that look.

He thought back to his own honeymoon, how stilted it had been, how disappointing. The swarm of relatives and close friends, all made to spy on he and Cora, had been overwhelming. Instead of having a great time knowing his wife, he'd spent most times being cautious around her and their family. He wished he could take those days back and give her a far more pleasant experience, if only to let her have the same dreamy look Rosamund now had in her eyes, the one he'd wished he'd seen on Cora the days following their return.

He sighed, as he looked down the glass of whisky he'd been holding. There was no way to turn back now. There was no way he could give that experience back to her. But he could make her happy _now_ , that he knew—only he didn't know how.

He knew it had pleased her that he'd finally started spending the nights with her, a few months back, and he also knew how glad she was that he had started paying attention to her more—he'd felt the change. But he felt as though, those weren't enough. It felt as though he needed to do something more—if only he knew exactly what.

He wished he knew because now, there was nothing more important to him than her happiness.

It took a few more hours of mingling and chatting with family before they called it a night. At that point, he was just extremely grateful that they were headed for bed. Catching up with Rosamund and Marmaduke had been nice, but now he needed to be alone with his wife. He needed to feel him next to her, breathing, sleeping peacefully, and he needed that moment to just be thankful that out of all the men who had asked her hand for marriage, she had chosen him.

"'I will come and knock when I'm finished," he said as he stopped in front of her door. She nodded and he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her cheek before leaving for his dressing room

It only took a few minutes for Watsons to finish dressing him for the night, but he waited awhile before knocking on her door for he knew it took her longer to finish getting ready.

He sat at the foot of his small bed, his eyes wandering past the dark bedroom. He'd wondered how he had been able to sleep through in this room night after night through the first half of their marriage. Her bed, now theirs, was so much more comfortable. Of course, he knew, it was largely due to the fact that she was there in that bed, and he slept with her in his arms.

He sighed. He realized, maybe he did know how to make her happy. Maybe it was what he'd felt that would do exactly that.

He'd been feeling it, for a very long time now. He'd felt it the moment he'd lit a candle on whilst making love to her just so he could finally see her, he'd felt it the first night he'd spent the night in her bed. He felt it, but it had taken him so long to admit it to himself. And now, it's taking even longer to admit it to her.

He loved her. He _is_ in love with her. And that had been so hard to admit at first, but now, it felt so good and so right to say it.

He'd never fallen in love before, but he knew that if this wasn't it, then he didn't know what else it could be.

Again, he sighed. The problem wasn't identifying the feeling, the problem was letting her know what he was feeling.

Standing up and shaking his head, as he tried to push the thoughts back, he came over the adjoining doors and knocked. She should be finished by now. And when he heard her muffled "Come in" pass through, he opened the door slowly. He found her sat on the bed, with a small smile on her face.

She didn't speak as she watched him walk over to her. He sat down beside her on the bed and took her hand before leaning in and kissing her like he'd fantasized doing all day. He'd kissed her hard and deep, until they both had to pull away, gasping for breath. Her chest was heaving, and he was sure he could hear his heart beating so loudly in his chest.

"Hi," she whispered as she peered up at him. Her eyes were glowing, looking so happy, looking so satisfied.

"Hello," he whispered back. "I had wanted to do that since I had woken up beside you this morning." He brought his hand up to her cheek and caressed her soft skin.

"Did you, indeed?" she asked, a small smile gracing her face.

He nodded, nuzzling his nose with hers. He kissed her again, softly this time, and then started trailing kisses across her jaw, down her neck, down to her chest. He would let his teeth nip at her skin and then sooth it with his tongue, making her groan and moan. His hands soon joined in, and in no time they had divested themselves of their clothing, and he had her writhing underneath him. He knew her body well—like a master to a puppet, a musician to a fine-tuned guitar.

Moaning sounds filed the room, and though they tried to contain it, the sounds still escaped their lips. He knew exactly what to do, knew exactly what pleased her. It didn't take long for them to reach to the precipice of bliss. She cried out his name, like a song, and he fell onto her chest, groaning her name as he spilled inside of her.

He rolled them over, afraid of crushing her, and only laid down with her for a few minutes as they both tried to recover.

"I waited all day for that as well," he said in between pants. He pulled her closer to him and rubbed her back.

"Did you indeed?" she asked, grinning up at him. She closed her eyes and yawned, snuggling closer to him. He smiled at her and kissed the tip of her nose. Pulling the duvet over their now chilling bodies, he hugged her tighter. She was already asleep but had to add one more thing, "Night, Robert, I love you."

"Good night, love," he whispered to her now sleeping form. He closed his eyes and mouthed "I love you too," against her forehead, mentally kicking himself for being a coward.

One day, he was going to be able to tell her that he loved her, out loud and into her face whilst she was awake—because he did, _indeed._

 **Fin (3/18/15)**

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 **Let me know what you think: yay or nay? Also send me prompts! :)**


	4. Lilies

**_Lilies_**

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He didn't know.

That is all he can justify it with. He didn't really know.

He'd only wanted to surprise her, wanted to make her smile. He had waned to show her he loved her, even with little gestures, wanted to please her in small ways.

She'd smiled at him when he appeared at her door that early morning just as her lady's maid had walked out after bringing in her breakfast. He had his hands behind his back, a small but mischievous smile on his lips. She looked pleased to see him, even more pleased knowing that _that_ smile meant he had something for her— after all, it was something that he did ever since he'd admitted his love for her a few weeks ago. She beckoned him silently with a tilt of her head and he'd walked the small distance between the door and her bed with ease, the smile not slipping from her face.

She looked so pleased, so excited, probably trying to guess what he'd brought today. And he was so excited as well to show her, until her loud sneeze took him by surprise. Her eyes started to water and she sneezed again and again and again, and he'd worried, throwing the bouquet he'd planned to surprise her with to the floor and rushing by her side. He wasn't aware that she was sick.

Her eyes fell to the bouquet and she gasped (he'd felt horrible, but he didn't show and honestly, he had a rather more pressing issue at hand).

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She sneezed again, a few more times in quick succession, and the tears flowing down her eyes had him biting his lip and ringing for her maid.

"Allergic," she wheezed, her eyes still trained to the discarded bouquet. "To the lilies."

It seemed that his little surprise—the bouquet of lily of the valley—was not really a brilliant idea as he'd initially thought. But, really, he hadn't known.

The maid rushed in before he could say anything, and he barely managed not to yell at the top of his lungs. He ordered her to get Clarkson, not wanting Cora to be in anymore discomfort than she looked. And he'd not had many experiences with allergies, neither he nor Rosamund had one that he remembered, so the panic that welled up in his chest seemed justifiable.

He'd instructed that the lilies be thrown out, only giving Cora a sharp glance when she'd protested. And then he carried her himself to his dressing room, settling her in the middle of the bed whilst he'd instructed the maids to have Cora's room disinfected.

Clarkson arrived a few moments later, and he stood by the bed as Dr. Clarkson checked up on Cora and gave her medicine to relieve the allergies, leaving a few more just in case. He stared at his wife then, sighing in relief, his shoulders sagging just as well, when he'd find her more or less better now, looking less pained. Dr. Clarkson left soon after, only instructing that her ladyship not be exposed to anymore lilies today (an anaphylactic shock—whatever that was—did not sound like a good idea to him) or anything that she's allergic to.

He paused for a moment, realizing he didn't really know what his wife was allergic to. He'd make it a point to ask her later, when she's feeling better.

Thankfully, he realized, mama and papa were out of town this week. The ruckus would have had mama throwing a fit again, and Cora really didn't need that.

He walked right inside the dressing room, having seen Dr. Clarkson out, and found his wife sitting in the middle of the bed, eyes closed.

"Sorry, love," he said as he took a seat beside her and took her hand in his. He kissed her knuckles feeling so guilty at having brought this on. "I didn't know."

"I know," she said and she opened her eyes to stare at him. "I'm only sorry I forgot to tell you."

He smiled at her sadly. "I should have asked," he said, the guilt of having neglected his wife for the past year, for not having faced his real feelings for her long ago, eating at him. He should have tried to get to know her, tried to be worthy of her. Instead, he'd been a coward, he'd hidden behind the pretence that she was nothing more than a woman that he'd married to save Downton, to face the fact that he'd fallen in love with her long before he'd admitted it to her and to himself. His head fell slightly, as his gaze dropped to the patterns on the quilt.

Cora must have known the direction his thoughts were heading because she grasped his chin between her thumb and index finger, lifting his head up, making him look at her, and smiling at him so sweetly, so beautifully, it made him want to haul her to his chest, hold her tight and _never_ let her go.

"I love you," she told him, looking at him with love in her eyes.

"I don't understand, sometimes, how and why you do," he admitted as he took her hand in his and drew circles on her skin.

"I love you, Robert. The past doesn't matter to me anymore, what matters, is that you feel the same way to me now." She took his face in her palm and placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

Sometimes, she knew just what to say, he thought as he pulled her to his arms and held her tight, dropping a kiss to her hair a few times before murmuring, "I've long since felt the same way, Cora, and I will always feel the same for you, for all eternity."

He felt his wife sighing softly, wistfully, surprised just as he was to hear him talking about his feelings.

She smiled and nodded. "Just don't bring me lilies again next time so I live long enough to see through eternity with you," she teased, grinning at him cheekily, making him chuckle.

"I promise," he said, and they both knew that he meant more than just not bringing her lilies.

 **Fin (8/6/15)**


	5. Laughter

**_Laughter_**

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The first time he'd heard her laugh, the very first time, in another one of those balls _Mama_ forced him to attend, he had been mesmerized. He was standing but a few feet away from her, and she was deep in conversation with a couple of other ladies, his sister included, and one of those ladies (Lady Spenser, he thought) made a joke of some sort in hushed tones, drawing out laughter from their group. He was sure he heard his sister snort, something she would kill him for should he ever tease her for it or die trying to deny it. But, in all honesty, it wasn't what drew his attention to them, it wasn't what had him pondering. It was _her_ laugh—tinkle-y and soft, almost like a flutter, should it be made into an action. It was sweet and short, and he vowed right then and there that he would do everything just to hear it again.

He didn't do good in his promise, however, and it had taken him longer to be able to draw _it_ —the sweet melodious sound of her laughter—out of her. He had been too distracted with her smiles, her vibrant blue eyes, her creamy skin which he had wanted nothing but press his lips to (and he had, mind you, but only in her knuckles or her cheek, and only when she permitted it). It struck him, weeks later of knowing her, that he _had_ made that promise of making her laugh again, when she _did_ laugh at something Rosamund had said. Rosamund had invited her to tea and with their _Papa's_ encouragement, he'd tagged along (much to their Mama's chagrin). They spent hours together, and at one point he had the courage to finally tell her that she had a beautiful laugh, one she'd responded with a giggling laughter, shy but sweet, and it had made him smile so much his jaw had hurt.

His heart had beaten faster at the sound. It was such a beautiful sound.

When he'd pursued her, with his Papa's blessing, he'd made it a point to make her laugh all the time, even the smallest of laughs, he'd tried. He'd felt that not only did he like hearing it, it had been a balm to his conscience knowing that even if he was pursuing her for all the wrong reasons, at least he could make her laugh.

Somehow, and to his utter disappointment (not at her, never at her, but at himself), that laughter had faded away when they'd married. Not at first, she'd been too happy to be married to the man she'd claimed to be in love with, but later in the marriage, definitely later when it had become clear that the man she'd loved had not felt the same way.

It broke his heart. And he felt like a world class cad. She was not anymore the Cora he knew, the hopeful, spunky young American who always had a smile on her face. And he realized that he had done this to her. Or Mama had, but he'd not stopped her from doing so. Or this life had, but he'd not make it any better for her. In the end, it was him. He took away her laughter, her spark.

Once before, he'd been able to fool himself that she'd been happy, just because he'd been able to make her laugh. But then, a few months into the marriage, when there should only had been wedded bliss—she'd stopped laughing, and he could no longer fool himself. And that had broken his heart, and made him pull away from her little by little because of the guilt.

It took a long time before she'd started laughing again. He'd noticed that it had been small ones at first, small and clipped, as if laughing would get her into trouble. But it had started again because of him, because of something silly that he'd said when he'd come up and had tea with her (the first time in months since he'd started avoiding her that he'd spent time with her alone willingly, except for the nights where they'd had to…well). He'd thought then that he would try again, again and again, just to make sure that it that laughter only grew, not disappear.

When one day, he'd come home from the village fuming, and still trying to calm down from the argument he'd had with his father, he'd sought her out. They'd been married now for almost a year, and he found himself enthralled by her more and more, craving her company more than anyone else's, and relying on her to make all the gloom around him go away with her touch. He'd heard her speaking to someone in the library, and upon investigation, he'd found that it had been one of her American friends, Anne Robinson, who'd been in town to marry into nobility like she had (as simple and offensive it might sound). As he peered into the room, he'd seen her throw her head back in unguarded laughter, and the sight of her, a wide smile in her eyes, head thrown back slightly, the sound of her laughter passing through the room, echoing off the halls, made him smile. It made all the anger in him melt away. And then he knew.

He had realized then how important it was to him that he'd keep her happy, not just laughter happy, but _happy_ happy.

And now, as he lay beside her, his nose nuzzled to the crook of her neck, a year and half since they married, he could not help the smile from creeping to his own lips as her chest vibrated and the sound of her laughter carried itself to his ear. Long gone were the days when they spent the night apart in different rooms, separated by walls and doors, blanketed by covers that did not keep them as warm as each other might have.

He pulled back to look at her, his gaze boring into hers, making her halt her funny story for a moment to look at him, and mutter a self conscious "what?" when he wasn't so quick to hide the intensity of his look.

He shook his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, smiling against them when she did, too.

"Nothing darling," he whispered, as he rested his forehead against hers. "You just make me so, so very happy."

And the girlish, giggling laughter that escaped her lips was just enough to make his heart flutter and his soul to lift.

There was nothing else in the world that made him happier than her.

 **Fin**

 **5/21/15**


	6. Latch

**_Latch_**

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She had no desire to talk about it, she'd told him right after it had happened and he was sat by her bed, looking at her with watery eyes. She had known him, known him more than half her life, and she knew that even if his English bringing up would otherwise not allow him to want to talk about it, he did want to, if only to make her say something, to stop the bleeding inside of her. But she could not talk about it, had no desire to, and could not bring herself to even mention it, _him_. It hurt too much.

She knew he was hurting too, and if she knew him—and she was sure that she did, _does_ —he wouldn't push her. After all, no matter how much he loved her, he was still an Englishman. And Englishmen preferred to be left alone to their thoughts and emotions.

So it was a surprise when he strolled in her bedroom a week after it had happened, looking at her determinedly. But when he had spotted her in bed, a mess of tangled sheets, uncombed hair, and red rimmed eyes, his own softened and he walked toward her cautiously. She didn't look at him, only continued to stare at the view outside, watching as the leaves changed colors, signaling that Fall was near. _He_ would have liked it, had he been given a chance to… _no, enough_. She didn't want to keep thinking about it, couldn't keep thinking about it. It was torture. Robert took a seat on the bed, facing her, and took her hand in his. Still, she refused to look at him, lest she cried and actually have a breakdown that was sure to embarrass both of them.

"Love," he said as his thumb made circles on the back of her hand, rubbing it in a comforting manner. But she really did not feel like being comforted at the moment. "O'brien said that you haven't eaten in two days."

She closed her eyes and sighed then open them again, only to look past him, through him, as if he wasn't even there.

"I'm not hungry." She granted him an answer, anyway. Honestly, she'd lost her appetite. She could not eat, could not find herself to do so. She had been pretty much the same for a week now, ignoring food, refusing it. The only time she had even come as close to eating was when O'Brien served her tea and brought toast along with it. She'd nibbled a little bit, but that was the extent of it.

"Darling, if you continue on like this, your body would not be able to…you're going to be sick," he told her softly. So far, he had not attempted to tilt her head to get her to look at him, for which she was grateful.

She could never live with herself if she had to face him and see the look of anger in his eyes, and even worse, the disappointment in them. She had failed, yet again.

"I deserve it, probably," she murmured, but she knew Robert heard it, because the next thing she knew, he was squeezing her hand and he was making her look at him.

"No," he said forcefully. "You don't deserve anything but to be taken care of. I know how much…I know Cora, I really do. What you're going through, you don't have to be alone in this."

But that was just the point. She was alone. She knew how much Robert had anticipated this baby, no matter how surprised they both were at finding out about it. And she knew, that he'd cried to himself about it. She didn't need anyone to tell her that. But as much pain as he was going through, he did not understand hers, could not possibly even begin to.

Her hand went to the bump that once housed their child, now it felt hollow, empty. It felt like a bitter disappointment.

And so it was: a bitter disappointment.

"I don't wish to talk about this, Robert," she said, almost plaintively, but her voice cracked, and she was close to tears—tears she did not want him to see.

"When I married you," Robert said softly, and it startled her that he'd wanted to talk about their marriage, or the beginning of it, as he had really taken pains in trying not to dwell in it anymore. "When I married you, I promised to love and cherish you, to be here for you always, through thick and thin, in sickness and in health." He sighed, as though the next few words were hard for him to get out. And it really was. "Granted that the first year, I wasn't really the best husband, I had promised myself that I would try, try very hard to be there for you and share with you your happiness and sadness. And for the years after that, it was no longer a vow made out of a guilty conscience, out of obligation, it was a vow made out of love. Because, Cora, darling, I always want to be here, sharing your happiness and your pain, and all the things that…I want to be here, Cora. So please, let me be."

This made her finally look at him, and she stared at him with tears blurring her vision. He might not understand her pain, could not possibly understand the feeling of hollowness left to her by the loss of her child, feeling as though it was her fault…but he was there. And he wanted to be there.

"It was all my fault," she sobbed against his chest as he had gathered her in his arms, letting her cry it all out.

"Listen to me, Cora," he said, his hands gripping her shoulder, pushing her away softly to make her look at him. "This, none of this is your fault. It happens. It happened. And I don't want you to blame yourself for something you had no control over."

"But, if I had only…" but she was cut off.

"No," he insisted. "You couldn't have done anything more. You have done all you can. Accidents happen, it happened to you. And you shouldn't blame yourself for it. You didn't want this to happen."

"It was a boy, Robert," she said, even if Robert knew that already, and it had intensified the burn in his chest when he'd found out. "It was a boy."

"He was, indeed," he said softly, looking like he was about to weep about it, but surely trying not to, if only for Cora's sake.

"I didn't know it could be like this," she whispered as she pushed herself closer to his embrace. At that moment, it was him, and his gentle caresses, his tight embrace that anchored her away from depression, from complete desolation. "I didn't know it could hurt like this. It feels like every bit of me, it's being ripped into sheds, and I feel like…I sometimes wish I had been the one to die in his place, because living with this pain, it's too much."

"Don't say that Cora," he said. "I would not know how to go on without you."

Once, he'd admitted to her that behind all his strength was her, and he would not know where to find it would he ever lose her. She felt the same.

"I just wish the pain would stop," she admitted in a soft whisper as she heard her voice quiver, a new wave of hurt coming on to her, hitting her.

"And it would," he said. "Someday, the pain would stop, recede and our son would be but a beautiful memory. I know it does not feel like it now, but together, we'll find a way, Cora. Like we always do."

She looked up at him then and pressed her lips against his. She didn't know it could be like this, the pain, the comfort—everything. None of this were anything she had wanted to have or happen. And as Robert pressed kisses on her head, softly and slowly lulling her to the sleep that had eluded her for days now, she knew, she knew that once again he had saved her, he'd anchored her out of the emotions that drowned her, and once again, she latched onto him and he kept her afloat, safe, and home.

 **Fin.**

 **4/28/15**

* * *

 **I apparently uploaded there L's. Oh well. Let me know if you liked it or not!**


	7. I Just Wanted to See You

**_I just wanted to see you_**

* * *

She sat at the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for her husband to come knocking at the door that adjoined their bedrooms. Her eyes were trained on the candles beside the bed, watching as the light in them flickered. It would only be a matter of minutes now before these candles were blown out for their nightly activities. It was, of course expected, for them to have these nightly encounters. How else would they be able to produce an heir? But no matter how much she expected this, for this to happen nightly, or as often as was possible, this was not _quite_ what she had expected.

She didn't know really what she was expecting, but she did know that it wasn't this. Maybe she had wanted a grand love affair. Maybe she had dreamt of love. Maybe she hoped for it, despite the fact that this had been basically a contract marriage—a marriage bought by her money. A marriage that had been going on for months now but still left her feeling alone and empty.

Months of marriage indeed had not changed the fact that her husband was not in love with her.

And now, she had to face the fact that if it still hadn't happened six months into their marriage, then it probably wouldn't happen anymore. Maybe she had to live the consequences of the actions she'd made.

She heard the door squeak softly, and turned her head up to look at the door. She watched as her husband poked his head through the door and scanned the room for her. She smiled at him when their eyes met, and gestured for him to come in.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked her as he made himself comfortable on one of the settees. He looked up at her with a smile that took her breath away.

She nodded slowly, watching him as he took his shoes off. "Yes, I have," she answered softly. "Rosamund was very excited, although Mama is less than thrilled."

Robert grinned. "Well, that would hardly stop Rosamund," he said in a laugh. "You know her. She would marry Marmaduke even if Mama attempted to drag her out of the church."

She nodded, not really knowing what else to say. She did know Rosamund. She also did know that Rosamund loved Marmaduke the same way Marmaduke loved Rosamund—in a way that Robert didn't, couldn't love her. The thought made Cora's heart break.

"Cora, are you alright?" Robert asked, startling her out of her thoughts. He was looking at her, his visage concerned. "Are you feeling well? Maybe I should—,"

She held her hand up and shook her head. "It's alright, I'm alright," she said, looking at him directly. She smiled at him a little. "I'm feeling well."

He walked over to where she was and took a seat beside her. "If you're not, then I can always spend the night in the dressing room—,"

She placed a finger against his lips. "It's alright, Robert," she said. "I want to." She looked down, biting her lip. She closed her eyes as she felt the blush rise up to her skin, and she could almost hear her heart beating.

She felt his finger tilt her chin up, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself drowning in his beautiful blue eyes. They had always been the ones that had captivated her first about him—amongst many other things.

"Well if you're sure," he said, his voice turning deep and husky, and his accent going cockney, as his lips started to descend unto hers.

"I'm certain," she whispered back, before his lips were on hers, engaging her mouth in a heated kiss.

It didn't take long before the candles that illuminated the room were blown out, and half of their garments were divested—just enough to get the deed done, but not enough to make it feel intimate, not nearly enough to let skin touch skin.

He kissed her again, this time soft and slow. His tongue begged for entrance, one that she granted quickly and eagerly. It was a surprise for her, for him to be taking this long—to tease her. Most of the time, they didn't really take that much time. They just got it done with. After all, this was merely an obligation, not to be done out of pleasure.

"Cora," he gasped. One of his hands was resting on the small of her back, and the other near her clavicle, just above the first button of her night gown. His lips were making a trail on her neck, giving her little shocks of pleasure whenever his teeth would graze her skin.

"Robert," she moaned as she clutched him closer. She realized that both of them were now in the middle of the bed, their chests heaving, and their limbs entangled.

He lifted his head from her neck long enough to give her a kiss, making her smile. But it didn't really take very long for that smile to turn into a frown when he suddenly pulled away from her and disentangled their bodies.

"Robert?" Her once breathy gasp had turned into a question.

He didn't speak instead he moved towards the side of the bed and lit a few candles. He turned to her afterwards and gave her a smile.

"What's going on?" she asked, as she watched his hand reach for her nightgown. "Robert? What are you doing?"

But instead of answering, he only gave her a soft smile and tried to help her out of it. Confusedly, and maybe a little bit dazedly, she let him.

She realized that he was trying to get her fully naked, and though she didn't know why, she only sat in bed as piece by piece, he took her garments off. Once she was divested of all her clothing, she looked at him in question. Her hand came up to cover her chest, and she was almost sure that she was turning red from head to toe.

"What—Why?" she asked as she tried, in a very futile attempt, to cover herself up.

He only smiled and pried her hands away.

"I just wanted to see you," he said.

She wanted to tell him no. For the first time since she married him, she wanted to be the one to say that this wasn't done. She didn't really want to imagine all the thoughts running in his head. There had only been a handful of times that Robert had seen her naked. And on all of the times, the lights had not been _this_ bright.

"You're beautiful," he said as his finger came to caress her cheek. "Never doubt that Cora."

She smiled, letting his sincere eyes calm her raging nerves. She might never believe him, not now, not in this setting, but she appreciated his word, appreciated him trying to calm her nerves.

She lifted her hand and placed it atop his shirt. She fiddled with the first button until it came undone. "Well, then I want to see you as well," she whispered, her voice sounding shaky even to her own ears. He didn't answer, he only helped her get his night clothes off of him.

Cora couldn't really think straight. The sight of his body on top of her, his skin sliding against hers, and his lips leaving her skin blazing as he trailed kisses down her body—it left her head and all her senses spinning out of control. This was somehow different. It felt different.

She knew that she was shaking, her hands were definitely trembling, and at that moment she could never trust her voice to speak. At the back of her head she wondered what he thought of her, of her body, of this. She wondered about what brought this on and why now.

But none of this mattered, nothing else mattered, the moment she felt Robert slide into her. It felt glorious, it always had—and she knew that it felt the same for him, as his moans filled her ears. She could feel herself floating, floating away to bliss at every thrust, and she knew that it wouldn't be long before she would be over the edge. And she had been right. A few more thrusts, and she was done, with Robert following behind her—grunting her name.

He fell against her tired body, but she didn't mind. She liked the feeling of his weight against her, now with his skin sliding against hers.

This night really _was_ different.

"Cora," he said, rolling them over. He settled down in bed, facing her, with his arms still around her.

"Hmm?" she hummed, as she stared deeply into his eyes. The blue orbs held her mesmerized, and she reckon, she'd be mesmerized still for a very, very long time.

"I…" he paused a while, as if trying to find the words. She watched him in anticipation, trying to will him to say the words she longed to hear—but not really expecting him to say it. "Thank you…for being wonderful."

She closed her eyes and let out the breath she had been holding. She couldn't be disappointed now—not after the night they had.

"You were wonderful, yourself, Robert," she said.

He smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her once again before pulling her closer to him, and she basked in the feeling of his arms around her,

Tonight he'd said that he wanted to see her. And she realized that for the first time in months—since they married—he did. He did see her. He really did.

 **Fin (3/20/15)**

* * *

 **Prompt: Cobert + "I just wanted to see you"**


	8. Why are You Wearing my Knickers

**_Why are you wearing my knickers_** ** _Cobert Drabble Request_**

It had all been Lord Shackleton's fault. If Philip hadn't suggested it, he wouldn't have even tried it at all. He wouldn't have even dared touch it with a ten foot pole. He wouldn't have come near it, out of fear that his wife would find out—or anyone for that matter.

Of course, it would be right to place blame on himself as well. He had foolishly listened to that bloody man. He'd admit that he had always been curious, and he'd sated that curiosity in the most thoughtless way possible.

He should have known better than to meddle with any of this. Having grown up with a sister should have taught him better than to try and understand the intricacies of women and everything entailed of being one. But he hadn't learned. And now, a wife and three young daughters later, he still hadn't known better.

He was tempted to call for his mother and ask her to have him sent to dinner without supper himself, if only he wouldn't be found in such a compromising and incredibly embarrassing situation. He also wanted to ring for his valet, but then he would have to explain how he got himself in this entanglement and that did not seem to sit well with him. He would, undoubtedly, be the topic of conversation upstairs _and_ downstairs, not only for the night or the next day, but for _months_.

He groaned in frustration.

He was the Earl of Grantham, for God's sakes. He was a full grown, dignified and well respected man. And yet, he found himself in his dressing room, his wife's knickers uncomfortably and awkwardly resting against his hips, seemingly bursting out of its seams. And all this because he was dim enough to try what Lord Shackleton had suggested to be 'the most comfortable garment he'd tried in his life'.

The trick, as Philip had said, was to not let his wife find out, but Robert, for the life of him, could not think of how he was going to hide this from his wife. The only way, it seemed, to contain the embarrassment in the bedroom was to call his wife and ask for her help.

Robert looked down on his reflection once more to where the knickers were stuck. He was determined not to have to call for his wife. He was able to put this thing on, he could also take this thing off. But this task was quickly proving to be quite the task. It had not been easy to pull it up, but pushing it down seemed to be even more difficult. He really had no clue how he'd gotten it as far up as it had in the first place.

Pulling it down once again, he groaned. He should have never tried it on. He really should not have. It had been foolish, so very foolish. But he had been curious. The garment _had_ indeed looked comfortable, unlike his own. But it was **not** , as he had found out the hard way.

Lord Shackleton had been very wrong, those damned knickers were not comfortable. And the trick was to _never_ try it on.

As he mulled over the ways in which he could get the garment off with the least damage possible, there came a knock on the door adjoining his and his wife's room. He knew that it could not be anyone but Cora. It was a very distinct knock—soft but very firm—it could only be described as hers. He blushed scarlet as his heart started beating faster. He knew he had not locked the door, having not really anticipated his wife's intrusion as he continued on with his shenanigans. He had been sure she spent this time with their daughters—especially since Sybil, at the very tender age of three, seemed to be in more mischief than her two sisters had been in, in that age, combined.

Carson must have mentioned him being there, and his wife, always eager to spend a little more time with him, had come trudging to his room. And now, unknowingly, she was about to face something that nightmares were made of.

"Just a mom-," he yelled out too late, as the door swung open and his wife's happy smile greeted him.

If he was already blushing at her first knock, he was sure that he was as red as a lobster now, and a little more would prompt his wife to call the doctor. He watched through the mirror as his wife's wide smile turned into a look of horror.

She was horrified.

And who wouldn't be?

The silence enveloped the room, as his wife's jaw slackened, and a lump lodged in his throat—leaving them both unable to speak. He could barely breathe, but he could hear his heart thumping so wildly against his chest. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

And he noticed that as red as he was, his wife was equally pale.

This was definitely not how he'd imagined seeing his wife—at any time. He would not have minded nakedness, as long as it wasn't _this_ kind of nakedness. And he would definitely not have minded the sight of those horrible knickers, if he was seeing them on his wife, not on him, and he was just about to remove themfrom her body, not his.

He watched as Cora's mouth opened, and then closed again, her eyebrows furrowing as if she was looking for the words to say, or to describe the situation. Funnily enough, there were no words to describe this situation, and there were none to say. Awkward would not begin to cut it, and 'I'm sorry' didn't seem to be enough.

Robert noticed how thunderous Cora's eyes looked. He was certain he was just about to get some tongue-lashing.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, willing this to be only a nightmare. But that was not meant to be. Suddenly, he heard a loud, cackling laugh from behind him. Opening his eyes again, he stared at his wife in horror. She was still at the door, clutching the wall beside it as she was doubled over in laughter. She was gasping for air and falling on her knees as she continued to laugh.

This has got to be the most humiliating experience Robert ever had in his life.

 _Unbelievable,_ he thought, as he watched his wife struggling to compose herself but failing. She would try to control it, and then give one glance at him and dissolve again in laughter.

"Enough," he yelled, when he couldn't take it in anymore.

He looked ridiculous, he felt ridiculous, and he was sure that his wife thought him ridiculous.

And bloody hell, this whole situation _was_ ridiculous. He could just about wring Shackleton's neck.

"I'm sorry darling," Cora said as she walked over to him, evidently trying to swallow her giggles. A few escaped her, and her sparkling eyes told Robert that she wasn't at all sorry for him.

"Cora," he hissed in warning. He had made a fool of himself, but he was not about to let his wife laugh in his face _again_.

"I'm sorry, Robert," Cora said, laughing, as she seemed to have lost it again. He gave her a look that seemed to shush her temporarily. "Forgive me darling, but you—," she stopped speaking as she clamped her mouth together and just pointed at his form.

"Oh, do try and hold it in, Cora, and help me out of this blasted thing," he said angrily, as he tried once again to push the garment down.

It had taken more than half an hour for them to take the thing off, mostly because Cora had collapsed in laughter more than once and it had taken her a few minutes to collect herself. In the end, they had cut the thing into pieces, to get it off of Robert's body. The damage it caused had left the poor little knickers irreparable.

"I'm sorry for laughing, darling," Cora whispered as she slithered up Robert's body.

He clenched his jaw, and turned his head away. "You really aren't," he said just as Cora was to touch his lips with hers. "You enjoyed my misery." Cora bit her lip, obviously struggling to keep herself from laughing. "You must promise me never to speak to anyone about this!"

She shook her head, as she continued to bite her lip.

"Promise me!" Robert insisted.

Clearing her throat and swallowing the laughter bubbling in her throat she nodded. "I swear," she said. She then cocked her head, and continued, a hint of smile already teasing at the edges of her lips, "although, do tell me, I'm curious…Why on earth were you wearing my knickers?"

And she burst out laughing once again.

 **Fin (3/17/15)**

 **Prompt: Cobert+ "why are you wearing my kickers?"**


	9. Ikea

**_Ikea_**

* * *

He cranes his neck back and forth, left and right, stands on his tiptoes and peers at every corner of the store. He cannot have done this. It is just not possible. He cannot have been outsmarted by a five year old. He cannot have lost him in this blasted store that the child's mother has insisted they visit for a stupid bloody lamp.

This cannot be happening to him.

He really should not have gone to this damned store. He really should not have. It is a wasted trip. And now, now this happens.

He mutters a frustrated _bloody hell_ to himself as he tries to locate a child with a blue shirt, dirty blonde hair and a mischievous smile often partnered by the mischievous glint in his eyes. He really should have refused to bring that boy along. But the puppy dog eyes and the boyish pleading of " _Please, Uncle Robert"_ has gotten to him, and now he's in this predicament.

He shakes his head closes his eyes for a minute, vaguely aware that he is still walking down the aisles of this damned store looking for a five year old, a five year old that could not _possibly_ be any smarter than he is, with his eyes closed.

His eyes suddenly open when he feels himself colliding against something, or rather someone, and he hears a small _almost_ scream. He realizes that he has been walking with his eyes closed (and in his defense, he is merely frustrated and can feel a migraine nipping in his head) and he's caused someone to topple over because he is being stupid.

Fortunately, he has quick reflexes and the moment his eyes has shot open, his arms also reach out, and he catches the woman who is just about to fall to the ground by her waist. He holds on to her, keeping his arms snaked around her slender waist, helps her to get a hold of her balance, let gravity pull her back to her feet steadily.

"Thank you," she murmurs quietly and breathlessly as she pulls away from him slightly. She looks at him then, her fiery blue eyes captivating him for a moment. Gods, she is beautiful. One perfect eyebrow is raised in question, perhaps even in judgment, and her lips are pursed. Her cheekbones are high and her skin is fair, and he means really fair, but those are just details, none too important (only, it is, because they will leave an imprint on his brain later on). "But you really should watch where you're going," she adds, her voice curt.

"I'm so sorry," he offers, smiling one of his charming smiles at her in hopes that she might not be _too_ mad. "I was just—I'm frustrated and I'm getting a headache and…" he pauses, realizing that he's babbling and shakes his head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," she says, nodding. "I know IKEA is kind of overwhelming sometimes." She gives him a smile now, and he notices how _more_ beautiful she is when she smiles. She probably notices how desperate he is because she offers, "What is it you're looking for, maybe I can help?"

He shakes his head and lifts the box that is already in his hand, which he has forgotten in his search of the mischievous little boy. "I already have what I came here for," he says. "However I am now looking for something I came here with."

Her eyebrow shoots up again and she asks, "Lost your wallet?" she asks as her lips split into a grin full of mirth. Her blue eyes sparkle and for a moment he feels like his breath is caught in his throat.

Um, what is going on here?

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I lost my cousin's son, actually." He chuckles at the surprised look on her face. Her eyes widen, and it's almost comical, but she still looks lovely, and his chuckle fades into a soft smile. "He ran away from me, sadly, and now I'm spending my whole bloody time looking for him and this store is just huge. Not to mention it's a great place for him to go play hide and seek with me." He shakes his head at this.

She laughs along with him, and her laugh is delightful—soft and tinkle-y, like wind chimes and everything nice and beautiful that he's known. "How old is he?" she asks.

"Five," he answers and then describes the boys looks, how tall he is, his hair, what he's wearing. "His name is Patrick." Then he looks at her inquisitively, the request now at the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates. He doesn't even know her name. When she asks _'What'_ , he opens his mouth and says, "Would it be so terrible of me to ask for your help in looking for him? I'm afraid I already have a headache and I've searched the store, walked the aisles twice, and still can't find him."

She again raises her eyebrows at him, and for a moment he feels like he's been too forward. He is ready to retract his words when she grins and nods. "Sure," she says. "My brother's looking for some things I'm not particularly interested about, so why not help you find your nephew, to pass the time?"

He smiles gratefully at her, relieved. "Thank you so much," he says. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and shows her a picture of the boy. "This is what he looks like, just uh, yell if you find him?" He scratches his head at that idea but wouldn't it be so forward to give her his number now? "Or I can give you my phone number, and you can give me yours so I can call you if either of us finds him?" He almost kicks himself when he hears the words stumble from his mouth.

That sounds like a line.

How stupid is he?

This is a serious case of a foot in the mouth _disease._

She's going to think that he's a creep now.

She looks at him as though he's offended her, and he is almost ready to apologize to her, but she just nods her head. "That's a good idea," she says. And then she hands him her phone and waits patiently as he taps his number in. He hands her his phone and she does the same. "There you go. Let's start looking now, shall we? We won't want him to wreak havoc in the store." She laughs at this and he smiles.

But god, oh god, if she only knew how true her statement is.

"Wait," he calls to her when she is about to walk away from him. She turns to him with a questioning look. "What's your name?" he asks, stuttering. "For the contact name." And he knows how lame that sounds, but it is true, half truth, yes, but still true.

She smiles at him. "I'm Cora. Cora Levinson," she says. "And you are?"

"Robert, Robert Crawley," he says with an answering grin of his own.

He watches as her smile widens before she turns back around and starts walking away. Immediately, he taps her name on his phone and saves her number. Maybe, while he's here in New York for business, he'll give her a call. Maybe they can become friends. (Or something more, but doesn't let his mind dwell on that.)

Maybe.

Later, while he's busy looking for Patrick in the store, his phone buzzes. He looks at the caller ID and it reads _Cora Levinson_. He picks it up eagerly and listens as she says she's found his nephew and she tells him where they are waiting.

He walks quickly to where they are, and a few meters away he sees her, his nephew right beside him, her smile big and contagious that he finds himself smiling too.

Maybe this isn't a wasted trip after all.

 **Fin**

 **5/28/15**

* * *

 **Prompt: "I lost my little sibling in Ikea and I need your help finding them"**

 **A/N: Visit my tumblr, check the prompt list tag, and leave an ask or leave a prompt on the reviews!**


	10. Mistletoe

hello guys! This little drabble was requested by crawleyfan on tumblr as I have posted a list of Christmas AU prompts y'all can choose from so I can make a drabble for. You can check my tumblr: breakingunbreaking. If you have other Christmas prompta let me know!

This is set in the Remind me to Never Forget verse. And nope, I havent forgotten about it. Don't worry.

* * *

Mistletoe|| Cora X Robert|| RMTNF Verse

They had not been dating long—a few months at most, maybe a little over half a year, and it's new and wonderful, sort of a gift that keeps on giving. It's a surprise to him that she had actually agreed to date him, and even that they lasted this long, since he'd been nothing but a bumbling fool when he'd asked her out. He'd brought her to possibly the most unimaginative date of anyone's life, bringing her to Museum hop since she's an art history major and has a great appreciation for arts—more than him, actually, and it's a bit predictable on his part. He's more than grateful that she'd found his stumbling foolishness charming and adorable rather than awkward and off-putting, because here they are now.

She had mentioned coming home for Christmas, and he'd been saddened about the news, though he'd understood. She did spend the rest of the year in the UK, and it's only during the holidays that she gets to spend time with her family. He'd been ready to just accept the fact that their first holiday together as a couple would be spent apart until she'd asked him to come along if he can and want to. He would have jumped at the chance to go, except he'd been worried about meeting her family for the first time. This, this relationship he has with Cora is something he knows will last, and though he has no claims on forever, he knows that he is in this for the long haul, and so he's really wanted to make a good impression on her family.

From what he's heard of her family, he knows they're extremely protective of her, her father more especially, and he knows how important it is for her that they should like him, because it's important for him, too.

Luckily for him, after an initial tension between himself and her father, Isidore, they'd found a truce for Cora's sake and the spirit of the Holidays (her family having been half Jewish celebrate both Christmas and Hanukah). The tension had risen once more when Cora's mother had insisted they share a bedroom and it's been clear on Isidore's face that it isn't exactly ideal.

Isisdore had not said anything though, and Robert had taken it like water to his back, and tried to enjoy the rest of his holiday with his girlfriend.

As it is now, they are sitting together in the den, resting after a party the Levinsons' had thrown for their friends. Cora had told him that it's an annual thing for their family, and it's one of those days that her mother gets to gloat without it looking like she's gloating because she's doing it for the festivities. Robert had chuckled at that and had thought how alike his mother and hers are, except neither one of them would probably agree.

Cora's head is pillowed against his chest as they sit in silence, watching the flames turn into embers, and he's dropping soft kisses against her head, his nose burying against her soft, raven hair. He stills when she lifts her head to look up at him sleepily.

"Thank you," she murmurs in a soft, low voice. "Thanks for coming with me here, even when you had your own family celebrations."

He smiles at her and kisses her forehead, drops kisses against her nose and cheeks. "I won't miss it for the world," he tells her, and though they are mere words, he finds that he means them more than anything. "I'm glad I get to celebrate the holidays with you and your family. Thank you for inviting me."

She grins up at him. "You know…" she trails off and he looks at her curiously, "I realize that there is something we haven't done since we've been here."

He looks into her blue eyes and sees the mischief lighting them up, and he knows, knows exactly what she's thinking, and yes, they havemade love before, are active in that regard and they do enjoy a rather healthy sexual relationship, but he's not about to…not here, not when her father is two doors down, waiting for a good reason to shoot Robert right in the skull.

"Cora," he warns, and he sits up straighter, forcing her to take the seat next to him. She pouts up at him and he sighs. "We can't."

"Why not?" she asks petulantly, and looks at him with those blue doe eyes, in that very way that makes him want to give her the world should she ask him to.

Is he in deep? Yes, he is. Is he whipped? Looks like it. Does he care? Nope, he does not at all.

"Cora, your parents…" he trails off, hoping that she understands without him having to say it.

"Are sleeping and probably knows we're boning each other, considering how my mother insists we stay in the same room?" she says, and damn, she makes a good point, but still. "My parents are not that old fashioned."

Probably. Still, Robert shakes his head and stands with a sigh. He reaches a hand to her and waits till she clasps hers with his and she stands. She looks like the cat that ate the canary, until he looks at her dead straight in the eyes and shakes his head. "Sorry my love, it feels weird."

She makes a face at that and sighs, but still relents, letting him lead her into their bedroom without a word. They make it halfway through the den before she digs her heels and stops in her tracks.

"What is it baby?" he asks, looking back at her to see what is wrong.

She's grinning at him, though, and looking at him with that glint in her eyes that spells mischief.

"What?" he asks, but she doesn't say a word, only crooks her finger and wags it in a come hither way. "My love?"

Her grin grows wider, and when he steps closer to her, she wraps her arms around him, pulling him closer. He's confused, but cannot say he's not enjoying the closeness. He looks at her eyes and can see the happiness shining in them, and he wishes, hopes his eyes convey the same for he is happy, so fucking happy, stupidly happy.

"You're beautiful," he tells her sincerely as he reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He feels something warm bloom in his chest when he notices a pleasant tint blooming on her cheeks.

She licks her lips and then looks up with a smile. "Would you look at that?" she says and he follows her gaze only to find the ceiling peppered in mistletoe. Martha's idea of a good time apparently consists of drinks and a lot of drunken, mistletoe pecks and kisses.

He laughs at her then, shakes his head because he knows she'd been fully aware of the mistletoes overhead and that she'd stopped here for that very same reason.

What a little minx.

But far would it be for him to not kiss her when mistletoes are overhead. After all, it's Christmas tradition. Shaking his head in amusement at her ingenuity, he smiles and then leans closer to press a soft kiss against her lips.

It's weird and new, to feel like this—like it's the first kiss all over again, as butterflies make cartwheels inside his stomach and it flutters and flutters, and he feels as though he is floating himself—to feel as though it's new though so familiar, so good, so marvellous. He's never been poetic, not really, but the way he feels now, he can damn well write Shakespearean sonnets after sonnets.

The kiss gets heated and hands start to roam, and though he still doesn't want to…well make love when they are under the same roof as her parents and with a gun so easily accessible for her father, he indulges in this—this sweet kiss full of promise and cheer, and dare he say it, love.

He pours his everything into the kiss, and though he cannot say it yet, he makes sure that by the time they pull away, she has no more questions of what he really feels for her…

That she won't doubt how much he truly loves her.

* * *

Let me know if you have any Christmas prompts, you can even specify which verse you'd like it to be in. ❤


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